


Perdere l'Amore

by predominantly_normal



Category: Super Mario Bros. (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Angst, Human AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Death in the Family, Punk Rock, Scars, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predominantly_normal/pseuds/predominantly_normal
Summary: When Luigi becomes infatuated with a scarred bartender, he develops a scheme to win the man's heart. The only problem? His older brother, Mario. [Complete][Bowuigi][Punk-Rocker AU]





	1. Ditched

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in three days, and I hate how seriously I took it. 
> 
> Content Warnings for:  
> -Family Loss  
> -Light Swearing  
> -Mentions of Abuse  
> -Body Trauma (scars, burn trauma)

Ditched

“Luigi, my boy, can you spare a minute before you leave?”

Luigi stopped in his tracks, allowing the coursing river of students to flow around him as they packed up their things and made for the door.

“Of course, sir,” Luigi replied to his professor.

Professor Toadsworth was an old, stout man who had been on the brink of retirement for the past several years. He’d been a close family friend since Luigi had been a child, though one would never guess it based upon his disposition in the classroom.

“I wish to talk to you about your test. Come around now,” Toadsworth ordered.

Luigi obeyed, grabbing a nearby chair and taking a seat next to Toadsworth behind his old metal office desk. Toadsworth betrayed no hint of his mood as he pulled upon the lowest filing drawer and searched for Luigi’s tab. After a solid moment of thumbing through paperwork (for dramatic effect, Luigi was sure), Toadsworth finally managed to fish out a crisply stapled packet of paper.

“Are you aware of what I’m holding?” Toadsworth asked.

Luigi eyed the paper, biting his lower lip and fiddling with his gloved hands. “It’s… my final exam,” he said after a moment.

Toadsworth nodded. “Do you know what you’ve received on this exam?”

Luigi felt his gut twist. “N-no sir,” he said. Anxiety filled his chest like the air being pumped into an overfilled balloon.

A crinkle at the corner of Toadsworth’s eye offered Luigi the security to breathe again.

“You received a perfect score, son,” Toadsworth said. His tone was flat and matter-of-fact, but Luigi could still hear the gush of pride slipping out from just beneath the surface. “Oh, your class is going to _despise_ you.”

“D-despise me?”

“You broke the curve out of the water,” Toadsworth nodded. “This was a very difficult final, you know. The next highest score in the class was a low C.”

“Mario warned me that this would be a weed-out class,” Luigi laughed awkwardly.

“Ah, so that’s my reputation, eh? How callous. If that’s how the young ones talk about Applied Engineering, I have very little hope for our future of technology.”

“I-I don’t-,”

“I know you wouldn’t slander my class, Luigi. You’re a fine young man. I didn’t intend to take this time out of your day because I’m afraid that you’re spreading hearsay,” Toadsworth said, flipping through Luigi’s test and showcasing the amazing lack of red ink upon each clean page. “I wanted to let you know that you’ve done a wonderful job. You seemed rather reluctant when you turned this test in. I didn’t want for you to worry over break.”

Luigi let an easy smile flood his face. “You’re too kind, sir. Are you still coming over for Christmas?”

“Ah, yes. You can expect my prompt attendance in full.” Toadsworth then leaned down and whispered to Luigi, as if afraid there might be a prying ear through the brick and mortar. “All my grandkids have their own little families to go to, and damn it if I’m spending Christmas alone.”

Luigi laughed, standing up and replacing his chair to its original spot. “You’re always welcome with Mario and I,” he said. “And thank you. For letting me know about my test, I mean. I _was_ kind of nervous about it.”

“Now you’ve got no excuse not to look proud, my boy.”

“Oh, sure,” Luigi said, tilting his chin up and his shoulders back as he bid farewell to his teacher and walked out of his Applied Engineering class.

Not all of his confident swagger was feigned, if he was honest. He really did find that the Professor’s words acted like helium in his chest, puffing it out and pulling it up. He felt light on his feet as he ambled down the halls of his high school.

It was rare that he’d achieved such personal accolades regarding his academics. He’d always been a more-than-decent student, but he’d never been especially impressive.

More often, his teachers had a knack for handing him the second fiddle. They’d smile and sigh as they handed Luigi back his work, reminiscing on the achievements of his older brother that were of equal or greater value. If Luigi got a 96%, they were sure to remind him that Mario had gotten a 97% on the very same test, and Luigi would have to sit there in silence, and not vocalize his own concern that reusing tests might’ve damaged their legitimacy as teachers.

Mario, the class valedictorian, captain of the baseball team in the spring and the soccer team in the fall, who had managed a cumulative, unweighted GPA of 3.8 throughout his entire high school career.

Luigi wished that he and Mario were at least in the same class, but instead, he was forced to file into his brother’s old classes, a mere astral projection of his brother’s larger-than-life persona. He felt like the caboose of a cargo train, because by the time you got to the last freight car, all the wonder of seeing a great big locomotive had already long-passed, and you just wanted it to be over and done with so that you could pass the tracks.

“Luigi, think fast!”

Luigi barely had time to drops his books as a volleyball came flying right at his chest. He caught it with a second to spare, wincing as it knocked the wind from his lungs.

“My point,” Daisy grinned. “You’re not supposed to _catch_ in volleyball, you know.”

“Well _you’re_ not supposed to be throwing… projectiles through the halls.”

“It’s just practice for JV! Relax.”

“I’ll relax when you stop trying to get detention.”

“You just don’t want me to be in trouble because I’m your ride home.”

“N-no, that’s not-,”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Luigi. Relax. I’m joking.”

Luigi sighed. “I know, I know.”

He couldn’t help but feel demeaned at the fact that he, a senior in high school, had to be driven around by his 10th year best friend. Not that he was incapable of driving- the family van was just always parked at home so that his brother could commute to work.

Luigi and Daisy made their way out of the building talking about the kinds of stupid, nonconsequential things that are only appraised interesting by those in the conversation. They talked about what they planned to do over winter break, and about Daisy’s father, who had sent Daisy tickets to visit him on Christmas.

Daisy’s father was an impressive overseas stock-broker with a Laissez-faire style of parenting and a knack for charity parties and company get-togethers. Though he had given Daisy all she could possibly want (the newest phone whenever it came out, and a completely decked out Buick, for starters), Luigi knew that the man was a sensitive subject for her.

As a way to get back at him, Daisy had endearingly named her jet-black Buick, the “POS-mobile”.

“Get it?” she had said to him once long ago, “because it’s a piece of shit!”

The two friends got into the POS-mobile, and Luigi made sure to buckle himself quickly. Not a second had passed before Daisy was peeling out of the school lot, her car wheels skidding and slipping on the snowy ground.

“Daisy, do you think you could manage _not_ giving me a heart attack for a single day?”

“Why would I do that? You’re cute when you’re scared,” Daisy teased.

Flushed red and at a loss for words, Luigi did nothing more than stick out his tongue at her.

“Real classy,” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out later tonight? There’s this place that I’ve been _dying_ to go to. My current favorite band is playing a gig there tonight, and I don’t want to experience them alone.”

Luigi shook his head. “Mario and I have to work on two houses today. Sorry.”

“That’s the worst. I mean, come on- it’s break!”

“Yeah, well people still need money on break,” Luigi said flatly.

“You’re not going to be doing this for your entire life, are you? If I come back in twenty years for our high school reunion and you’ve got a beer belly and a toupee, I might just have to pretend I don’t know you.”

“Goodness, I hope that’s not the case,” Luigi shivered. “I’m going to college and then clawing my way out of this town. It’ll be amazing.”

“Well, Mario’s hasn’t ever been to college, right? You’ll get to be the first great Italian trailblazer at community college in your entire family.” Daisy rolled her eyes.

“You make it seem like I’m bitter or something.”

“You _are_ bitter. You looked like a thousand bucks walking out of Professor Toadsworth’s office. What, did he manage to praise you without mentioning Golden-Boy?”

“He may have,” Luigi said defensively. “Look, it’s not my fault Applied Engineering was my best class and Mario’s worst. I just happen to like robots more than people. There’s no crime in that.”

“Yeah, alright,” Daisy deadpanned. A moment after, she rounded the corner and parked. “We’re here. You’re sure you can’t go out tonight”

“Thanks, Daisy,” Luigi said. “And yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay, nerd. Have fun unclogging toilets.”

“Thanks, Daisy.”

The moment Luigi walked into his house, he was being tossed a pair of overalls and a toolbox. Luigi tossed his schoolbag besides the door and kicked off his sneakers in favor for his work boots.

“Why’re you so late home? Come on, you’re changing in the van,” Mario snapped, shoving Luigi out the door.

The van the brothers shared to run their plumbing company out of was a rusted old thing, with a hubcap missing on one of the wheels, nonfunctioning AC, and an ignition which worked a good three-fourths of the time. Luigi plopped into the passenger seat, slipping below the dash to offer himself some privacy as he wriggled his way into his work uniform.

Mario kicked the car to life, and like an uncooperative horse being driven spurs into, the car groaned in protest for a good second before rumbling to life.

Luigi nervously glanced at his brother. Any stability in the older man’s mood had completely tanked over the past few weeks, and it was getting near impossible for even Luigi to predict Mario’s disposition at any particular moment.

Though his brother had only been born a year earlier than Luigi, he was already beginning to look like a full-grown man. He’d let his facial hair grow in, leaving him with a thick, bushy mustache. The stresses of work had taken also their liberties with his sunken eyes and his growing midsection.

“Sorry I rushed you, bro,” Mario huffed. “These people are impatient as ever around the holidays. How was school?”

“School was fine. Toadsworth says he’s still coming around for Christmas.”

“Did he? That’s nice of him.”

Luigi nodded his agreement and stared out the car window as his brother drove. He didn’t feel much like engaging in any conversation, and even the noise of the car radio talk-show was starting to grate on his ears.

If Mario weren’t there, he might’ve admitted to himself that he had wanted nothing more than to go to the concert with Daisy. Though he never minded helping to keep the house afloat, it sucked to miss out on his entire senior year.

When he was younger and newer to the world, he had believed that the universe was a great equalizer, and that people got good luck and bad luck in equal proportion. But he was wise enough now to know that in reality, misfortune tended to stack itself like a Jenga tower.

Life had pulled out the first few blocks from the base when his parents died, and it pulled out more from the unsteady middle when money and taxes had stolen his agency of childhood. And now here he was, stuck and trying desperately to keep the gap-filled tower of his poor existence from toppling over completely.

“Hey, bro? You okay?”

Luigi jerked his head up. “I-I’m fine. Why?”

“You look like you’re in deep thought.”

“So?”

“I’ve read your poetry, bro. Your deep thoughts are concerning.”

Luigi felt his face pale. “What did you see?”

Mario held up a defensive hand. “Hey, hey- cool it. I’m talking about the things you wrote about Mom and Dad.”

“O-oh,” Luigi sighed. “Good.”

Luigi knew that Mario tended to be nosey, and thus didn’t care if the elder brother looked through most of his stuff; however, he’d shared some private thoughts with his pens and papers that Mario would probably be less than pleased to find.

Namely, things about Mario.

“Hey, bro,” Mario said. “Don’t be so upset. You know I’d never look through your _really_ personal stuff, right?”

“I-I knew that.”

Luigi sighed. He sometimes wished that Mario were a worse brother. Then he’d have an excuse for his occasional resentment. But Mario wasn’t bad at all- he was just overworked. And like machines, when people worked too hard, things tended to overheat and malfunction.

They arrived at the customer’s house shortly. After greeting the client with their corny, unforgettable slogan, (“Mario Bros. Plumbing! You clog ‘em, we clear ‘em!”) the two brothers unloaded and headed down to the man’s basement to work.

After a moment of diagnosing the issue, Mario passed Luigi a wrench, and pointed.

There wasn’t Mario needed to tutor Luigi in regarding the brothers’ trade. Luigi was a natural with wrenches and complex systems, and Mario himself had only learned how to be a plumber as a desperate grab at financial security by studying from a semester’s-worth of YouTube videos.

They worked for a solid hour until Mario called for a break. The brothers sat next to one another and ate cheese sandwiches on the man’s basement stairs.

Mario nudged Luigi’s shoulder. “So did you have plans tonight or something?”

“Why would I make plans on a work night?” Luigi asked.

“You seem like your thoughts are preoccupied.”

“I mean, Daisy asked me to go out, but-,”

“You got a _date?_ Bro, that’s fantastic!”

Luigi shook his head frantically. He was sure his face looked almost as red as his brother’s brick-colored hat. “N-no! No, not a date! She just wanted to go out to a bar with me and- _ohmyGodsheaskedmeoutonadate_.”

Mario laughed. “Never mind that you got Sadie-Hawkins’d.”

“I’m dense,” Luigi sighed.

“You get that from me. Let me tell you- Peach practically had to hit me over the head with a frying pan to get me to ask her out.”

Luigi groaned. “Yeah, but you’re _good_ at this kind of stuff.”

Mario dismissed Luigi with a wave of his hand. “Whatever. Look, the point is that I’m not going to keep you from schmoozing it up with your _lady friend_. You deserve to have a night out. Hell, when I was your age, I hardly ever had a night _in.”_

Luigi huffed. “When you were _my_ age? You were my age last spring.”

Mario offered a single, humorless chuckle: “Was I?”

There was a long beat of silence before Mario moved in to sling his arm around Luigi’s shoulders. “Oh well, that’s life, right?” Mario said, his cheerful disposition returning almost instantaneously. “Either way- I want you to go out tonight and have fun. How about we put another hour into this place, finish up real quick, and then I can drop you off at Daisy’s on the way to the next client?”

Luigi’s heart pounded with excitement. He wanted nothing more than to chase the bliss of simply being allowed to be a teenager, but age and tragedy had taught him to be more reluctant than ambitious. “But won’t you need help?”

Mario shook his head. “It’s no sweat. It might take me an hour longer without you, tops. I think you forget who the champion here is.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive, little bro.”

Luigi could hardly contain his excitement. “I’ll text her right now.”

 **Luigi, 3:54 PM:** Daisy, Mario is going to drop me off at your house in roughly one hour. Is that okay?

 **Daisy, 3:55 PM:** HELL YEAH! So we’re on for tonight?

 **Luigi, 3:55 PM:** You know it.

“Smiling at something in particular, bro?”

“Not at all!” Luigi stammered. “Mario, come _on_. You know we’re not like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, Casanova. Grab that Alan key over there and meet me downstairs, why don’t’cha?”

They finished the job, as Mario had expertly predicted, within the hour. After taking their check and hammering a stick-in yard sign into the man’s front lawn, they got into their van and drove towards Daisy’s.

Luigi felt the bitterness towards his brother clear from him, leaving only the crueler feeling of guilt. Mario hadn’t asked for the life he’d received, just as Luigi hadn’t asked for his. Mario just had a knack for making the best of bad situations.

Though even with all the odds stacked in Mario’s favor, the universe still managed to send each wooden block in his life tumbling to the ground.

They arrived at Daisy’s with a minute to spare.

“You have fun, bro,” Mario said. “Be home by-,”

“Nine-thirty, like always. I know,” Luigi said.

He didn’t look back as he raced from the van to Daisy’s front door.

When Daisy answered, Luigi had to do a double-take. Sometime within the last two hours, Daisy had pulled a complete 180 with her appearance; instead of her bright orange runner’s jacket and her yoga pants, Daisy was wearing a ratty black t-shirt and stone-washed jeans.

“Do I look good?”

“You look like you’re going to commit arson,” Luigi remarked.

“Yeah, okay plumber-boy. Let’s go.”

Daisy drove them over to a bar on the far side of town, edging close to the urban city. Living so close to Brooklyn had its perks- namely the fact that they were never more than five minutes away from something to do. They parked on the street a block away, and walked a block through the frigid winter air to get inside.

“You’re sure this is worth it?” Luigi asked.

“Positive,” Daisy said. “This place is great.”

Despite her confidence, the bar they eventually wound up at wasn’t by any means spectacular. It was a bit small and dinky, with an island in the center that housed a bar, and a few booths and tables. About a dozen neon signs advertising beer and smokes and corvettes hung up on every wall, turning the thin layer of cigarette smoke inside the bar into a light show of pinks and blues.

“What are we here for again?” Luigi asked, feeling his muscles tense up at the risqué atmosphere.

“That,” Daisy said, pointing to a small stage in the back where a band was doing its mic check. “They host a band here every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. This one’s kind of local, but I’m in _love_ with their entire discography.”

The two took their seats at the bar, and Daisy ordered them both Shirley Temples.

“I could’ve paid,” Luigi grumbled.

“I took you out, I’m paying,” Daisy shot back.

Luigi rolled his eyes.

As the band continued to set up, Luigi tried hard not to notice the dryness in his throat, or the feeling of Daisy’s eyes fixed on him as he rambled on about things that even _he_ found boring. He hadn’t been completely obtuse; Daisy’s crush on him had made itself known his junior year. He just didn’t see the point in dating- and especially now, with all the hardship he and his brother were facing in the wake of their parents.

Daisy just wouldn’t get it. Maybe that was why Luigi felt a spike of anxiety when she moved to hold her hand over his.

The bartender arrived just in time to interrupt her.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

“I-I don’t mind at all!” Luigi yelped, voice cracking. He took the opportunity to sit back on his barstool and readjust his hands away from the girl besides him. “Perfect timing, actually. Thank you- _uh….”_

“You can just call me Bowser,” the bartender said. Something about the odd name seemed familiar to Luigi, but he couldn’t place it.

“R-right.”

Luigi wasn’t one to be struck by people, but Bowser seemed to be the exception. He was a handsome man, probably in his early twenties. He was built like a fridge, with a box-like jaw, and long red hair that was tucked neatly behind his pierced ears. But none of that seemed to be quite as noticeable as the huge, jagged scar that blemished his face from the base of his chin to the bridge of his nose.

The scar was a pink streak of ugly, gnarled skin, that clearly hadn’t been taken care of during recovery. Luigi pulled up his sleeve to scratch at his forearm.

“Didn’t your mom tell you it was rude to stare?” Bowser snapped.

Luigi yelped. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-,”

“Enjoy the band,” Bowser grumbled. Then quieter, under his breath, “Asshole.”

Daisy shot Luigi an incredulous look, but let it wash away as the band took to the stage. They were a punk band, and they were fairly good for being local. Daisy sang along to all their songs at top volume, and cheered when the guitarist moved to perform his licks and riffs.

In Daisy’s distraction, Luigi found it suit to return his eyes to Bowser.

The man had the ghost of a smile on his face as he watched the band, and he occasionally paced back and forth to check on his customers.

Luigi found himself enjoying the music more and more as the set came to a close. He let his imagination take him, wondering idly what it’d be like to be up there performing, with Bowser staring at him with that kind of relaxed amusement.

A smile- that’s all he really wanted.

“Wasn’t that great?” Daisy cheered as the band closed on their final chord.

“It was pretty good,” Luigi agreed.

As Bowser came over to collect their tab, Luigi felt his stomach twist. He wondered what Mario would do in a situation such as his.

 _Chase your bliss_ , his mind said to him.

And so he did.

“Uh, Bowser?”

“What do you need, green man?”

“I was just wondering: how do you decide which bands play? Is there and audition process or-,”

“Yeah. We host auditions the nights before. So Friday’s set auditions of Thursday and so-on. Basically everyone who auditions gets in. If they sound good, it’s entertainment. If they sound bad, it’s free comedy. Why, you have a band or something?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t call it a _band,”_ Luigi mumbled bashfully.

“Well, whatever you call it- if you’ve got something to perform, go ahead and audition. We don’t pay for gigs, though. It’s pretty much a fancy open-mic.”

There was no spark with Bowser. They didn’t hit it off. They didn’t even talk for the remainder of the night after Bowser had thanked Luigi and Daisy for their tip. But Luigi saw something in Bowser that looked all-too familiar. He saw an ugly deformity, and deep bags under the man’s eyes. He saw exhaustion and responsibility that far exceeded Bowser’s age.

He noticed that Bowser sighed in the same way he did.

Luigi had to meet him again.

On their way out, Luigi tapped Daisy’s shoulder. The girl looked a little rattled, but Luigi pretended not to notice.

“You’re still into music, right?” Luigi asked.

Daisy frowned. “A bit, yes.”

“We should form a band.”

Daisy groaned. “Oh my God, you’re freaking smitten with the bartender.”

Luigi felt his ears go red. “I-I am not-!”

“You know it’s basically his job to be charming, right? He’s probably even got a girlfriend.”

“Daisy, please!”

“I’m serious, Luigi. He looks like nothing but trouble.”

“My whole life has been trouble,” Luigi huffed. “Look, I know that you don’t get it because you’ve got it go-,”

Daisy shot Luigi a look.

“Sorry,” Luigi amended. “Because you’ve got it _better_. But either way, I just- I can see something familiar in him. You can’t fake that kind of connection.”

“Sure you can.”

“Daisy, please. I know this is probably crazy, but you saw him. You saw that scar, didn’t you?”

Daisy cast a solemn glance at Luigi. He was fiddling with the hems of his gloves.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, you know that?” Daisy said, cracking a smile. They made their way into the car. Daisy sighed as she took off her coat. She sat like someone had tied a chain of weights around her neck.

“Are you upset?”

Daisy plugged her keys into the ignition and the POS-mobile roared to life.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry if I-,”

“Luigi, shut up. I’m not in the mood,” Daisy growled. “Find a guitar, and meet me at my house for band practice tomorrow. Ten O’clock, sharp. If you’re late, forget it.”

Luigi grinned ear to ear. “You’re amazing.”

“Not amazing enough, apparently,” Daisy grumbled under her breath. Luigi felt a pang of guilt strike his chest, but pretended as if he hadn’t heard her at all.

And they left it at that.


	2. Scarred

Scarred

“Bro, what’s up with Grandpa’s old guitar?” Mario asked. “I hope you know you’re not allowed to sell that thing for Christmas money.”

“I’m not selling it,” Luigi replied with a frown. “But hey, do you remember any of the old stuff Grandpa taught us on this thing?”

“Sure,” Mario said. “If you’re trying to impress a girl, classical guitar playing is a little outdated, though.”

Mario grabbed the guitar from Luigi and plucked each of the strings to tune. The old instrument was short and fat, with a wide fingerboard and nylon strings. It had been a classic artifact from Italy, played on American streets by an immigrant to earn money for his family.

Mario’s fingers, though bruised and torn by his manual labor, were still as deft as ever when playing. He plucked out the first notes to _Santa Lucia,_ his fingers slipping only on occasion out of rust.

“I’ve still got it,” Mario grinned to himself as he began to play more fluidly. The beautiful reverberation of strings bounced off of every wall with a gorgeous, full sound. Though the instrument was old enough to be considered a historical relic, age had never beaten the sound from its finely crafted wooden body.

“You have plans with this thing today?” Mario asked, passing the instrument back to Luigi. Luigi shook his head.

“Nothing too interesting. I’m just going to be out with Daisy for a while.”

“Daisy again?” Mario quirked a brow. “Your date went well then?”

Luigi flushed. “You could say that.”

“Look at my bro!” Mario cheered. “Should I start practicing my set list for the wedding? _Laciatemi cantere con la chitarra in mano…”_

“The guitar’s not even in your hand anymore,” Luigi grumbled.

“It’s the principle of the matter, bro,” Mario shushed him. “Now come on, I’ve got to go and get groceries for Christmas anyways. I can drop you off at Daisy’s along the way.”

“Thanks,” Luigi said.

Daisy had assured Luigi that noise would be no issue. Like always, she had the entire house to herself. She invited Luigi downstairs, where she kept a plethora of instruments. An upright double-bass stood up on its stand, retired since her stint in the junior high orchestra, and a drum kit sat in the corner. A bunch of laundry had been shoved into the bass drum as a makeshift silencer.

A saxophone sat against the wall, next to two violas with missing strings and broken bridges. A bass guitar sat still plugged in against a huge box amplifier.

“Luigi, no offense, but do you even know how to play that thing?” Daisy asked, once Luigi had gotten settled with his guitar.

“I have an idea,” Luigi mumbled.

He propped the instrument upon his knee and plucked a few strings, the opening to _Arrivederci Roma_. His tempo was unsteady, and his fingers lost their places more than once, but muscle memory carried him through the music relatively unscathed.

“That is… much more than I would have given you credit for,” Daisy said with an impressed nod.

“I practiced a lot when I was a kid,” Luigi said. “Mario took lessons from our Grandpa in classical guitar, and I guess I followed suit. I thought I could be a better player than him.”

“And?”

“When we performed for the family, I had to play harmony,” Luigi sighed.

“Let’s switch something up, then. Do you know chords?”

Luigi bit his lower lip, and adjusted his gloves upon his hands. “Uh, kind of. Not really. I just learned how the fingerings for songs go. I never actually figured out the theory behind them.”

“They shouldn’t be hard for you,” Daisy said. She left to go dig through a box in the corner before grabbing a sheet of paper and a pen. Using her amplifier as a makeshift table, she scrawled out a few basic chord shapes and passed them to Luigi, who mimicked them on his instrument without much difficulty.

“Maybe you can’t be better than Mario at Classical Gas or whatever, but you sure as hell can rock his socks off with what I’m about to show you.”

With that as a precursor, they spent the remainder of the morning going over palm mutes and power chords and slides and bends. By the end of it, Luigi’s head was spinning. Despite the overflow of new information, he didn’t struggle too much. Playing punk music was simpler than classical fingerpicking, and he was even able to apply a few of the things he’d learned from his grandpa into his fills-riffs.

After a fair amount of practice, Daisy had made the executive decision that food was of more importance to her than creating a set-list, and they took off for lunch.

“How’re you and Mario holding up with the holidays?” Daisy asked, stuffing a handful of fries into her mouth.

“We’re making it through,” Luigi mumbled. He rubbed at his long sleeves awkwardly. “Mario’s been a little tense lately, but he’s been in good spirits.”

“He’s not being an asshole for once? Amazing,” Daisy rolled her eyes.

“He’s not an asshole,” Luigi sighed. “Mom and Dad’s death has been hard. He’s just… reacting to that.”

“He was an asshole before the accident,” Daisy pointed out. “I mean, he doesn’t even have the scars to show for it. If anything, you should be the one snapping at people.”

“Mario’s been really nice,” Luigi defended. He ran his fingers underneath his sleeve to feel the gnarled and burnt skin there. It felt tough and freakishly smooth, as if someone had dunked his arm in rubber. “I overreact all the time. I’m just bitter towards him when I shouldn’t be.”

“You’re doing fine,” Daisy said, and she was honest about it. “Honestly, if I were you, I don’t think I’d ever be able to get into a car again. I get that you’re trying to be chill or whatever, but it’s okay to be upset sometimes. It’s stupid to pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.”

“Maybe,” Luigi hummed. He finished off his lunch slowly, picking at his food.

“No, definitely. Now come on, we’ve got one more place to go and then we can head back to my house.”

They landed themselves at a thrift store. As soon as they walked in, Daisy dragged Luigi over to the racks of men’s discount clothing. She instantly dived into the shirts, pulling them out for inspection before deeming them either too clean or not clean enough.

“Why are we here?” Luigi asked as Daisy sized a shirt up to his chest.

“We’re here because you exclusively dabble in clothes made for farmers, which are, in fact, not very punk.”

“Does it matter? I thought punk was about not caring about whether you fit in with an archetype.”

“It matters,” Daisy began, “because as soon as we get up to perform our first gig, you will officially become a _performer_. Which means you need to put on a show. Therefore, your appearance matters.”

“I can’t believe that makes sense,” Luigi groaned. “Hey, why do you keep picking out short sleeves? You know-,”

“That you hate showing your arms? Yeah- get over it.”

“Get over it?” Luigi exclaimed. _“You_ try getting over it when it looks like someone poured a pot of hot candle wax all over your upper-body!”

“Relax. I think your scars look badass,” Daisy said. “And Bowser will, too. Now get to the changing room. Tuck your shirt in, too.”

Luigi sighed and followed her orders, changing into the clothes she had picked out. He avoided all contact with the hanging changing room mirror. Contrary to Daisy’s opinion, Luigi knew that his exposed arms looked nothing like _badass._ His scars weren’t cool, and they weren’t punk. They were just ugly.

Luigi cracked the stall door to the changing room nervously, his wide eyes pinned to the ground. He breathed as if trying to steal air from the thinnest atmosphere at the peak of a mountain.

“Walk out of there!” Daisy called. “I can’t see you.”

Luigi groaned, crossing his arms firmly as he walked out. He felt his entire body shake. The world seemed to be watching him.

He heard a young girl gasp in horror across the store. He was sure it was because the child had seen him.

“Daisy, I-,”

“You look _amazing_ , Luigi!” Daisy grinned. “Look at you! A real punk!”

“I’m _not_ a punk, though,” Luigi laughed awkwardly.

“No- your attitude still needs some work. Come on, uncross your arms. And are you still wearing those stupid gloves?”

“Daisy, please. I don’t want to. I can’t,” Luigi whined. It was taking every inch of his will not to race back into the changing stall and fix his jacket back over his shoulders.

Daisy stared at Luigi for a moment, and maybe she took pity on him, because she went out and found him a suitable (thought outstandingly large) jean jacket to wear over his arms.

“Come on, I’ll pay,” Daisy said.

“You shouldn’t pay for this. You already paid for lunch.”

“Correction; my _dad_ paid for lunch. And he will be paying for this, too. He’s a multimillionaire. Thirteen dollars at the thrift store isn’t going to kill him.”

“Fine.”

They paid for the clothes and made their way back to Daisy’s, spending the remainder of the evening writing music and figuring out how their set was going to go. They’d planned for three songs: two originals and one cover.

They played so late into the night, Luigi’s eyes began to feel heavy. Daisy drove him home after that, promising to practice her piece.

“I think we can actually get something together by next week,” she grinned as she parked her car outside of his house.

“M-maybe,” Luigi smiled. His grin dropped. “Hey, about yesterday-,”

“Don’t worry about it, Luigi,” Daisy murmured. “I was just… in a bad mood, I guess. Now you should get inside before Mario kills you.”

Luigi bit his lower lip as he read the digital clock on the dashboard: 1:13 AM. Hopefully, Mario would be asleep already and he’d be able to avoid the sure barrage of scolding from his elder brother.

Those hopes were dashed as soon as Luigi walked into his house. Every light in the house seemed to be turned on, and Mario was waiting for him.

Dread captured him instantly.

“Do you know what time it is?” Mario asked.

“I- oh gosh, I lost track of time with Daisy- I’m so sorry, Mario, I-,”

“It’s one in the _freaking_ morning, bro! I was worried sick! I called your phone twenty times!”

“My phone-,” Luigi pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. He was met with a silent ringer, and more than twenty missed notifications. He felt his chest seize. This was his fault. “I’m sorry, Mario, I didn’t-,”

“What is _wrong_ with you, Luigi?” Mario snapped, cutting him off. “You could’ve been hurt! How the hell am I supposed to know if you’re okay when you don’t answer my calls? I was twenty minutes away from filing a report with the police for God’s sake!”

“You don’t need to do that!” Luigi yelped, “I’m eighteen, I can-,”

“If you’re eighteen, then act like it! And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Daisy picked them out, I-,”

“Shut it. You look like an idiot,” Mario snapped. “And you’re not hanging out with Daisy again this week. I hope you kissed her goodbye when she dropped you off.”

“I’m an adult,” Luigi said, his jaw stiffening. He felt anger rise in him. “I can hang out with her if I want to.”

“You’re clearly not an adult if you can’t even check your phone. Get to your room, Luigi. I’ve got a shift in four hours.”

Luigi drew his lip back. “ _’Get to your room’_? Who do you think you are? Dad?”

“You know what-,” Mario sneered, grabbing Luigi by the shirt collar. He yanked his taller brother down to meet his eyes. Luigi felt as if he were looking into his own. “-you talk to me like that again, and I’ll make you sorry you did it. I gave up _everything_ for you, do you understand me?”

“You gave up everything?” Luigi yelled, his voice cracking with effort. His heart beat frantically, and his palms sweated. He shook all over, but he tried his best to keep his face steely and firm. “Did you give up your senior year? Did you give up your chance to be a kid? Did you give up 40 percent of your _skin?”_

Luigi pushed himself out of Mario’s grip and ripped the sleeve of his jean jacket up to his bicep, brandishing his marred arms. For the first time in his life, he hoped they looked just as ugly and grotesque as he’d always thought they were. He hoped Mario got a big look at every bit of his knotted, pink flesh.

“You shut up,” Mario snapped.

“Make me.”

When Luigi had recollected himself, he found his back to the wall and a burning sting on his face. He lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. Tears found their way to his eyes.

Mario had never hit him before.

The two brothers stood there for a moment, silent. The only audible sound was that of Luigi’s own heart, ramming into his chest as if trying to escape.

“Luigi, I’m sorry-,” Mario took a step towards Luigi.

Luigi flattened himself further to the wall, grabbing the neck of his guitar. “Don’t, Mario.”

Luigi didn’t break eye contact as he backed up the stairs to his room. He closed his door with such gentle care, not even the squeaky hinges made noise. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Daisy, though his mind was elsewhere.

 **Luigi, 1:43 AM:** Can you pick me up?

 **Daisy, 1:46 AM:** Why? Are you okay?

 **Luigi, 1:47 AM:** I’ll explain it when you get to me. Park a few houses over.

With that, he waited. The sound of Mario slamming his bedroom door shut echoed throughout the entire house, but Luigi paid it little attention. A few minutes later, his phone vibrated with a text from Daisy.

Luigi dug into his closet for his fire escape rope. It wasn’t much- just a repurposed climbing rope from an old PE class with knots down the length to serve as footholds. He secured one end of the rope around the foot of his bed, and threw the other end over the side of the window. Mario would surely be pissed the next morning, but as his face stung red with pain and tears, Luigi could care less.

He needed to get away.

Luigi descended from his bedroom window slowly, making sure not to bump the house with his shoes as he went down.

As soon as his feet hit the snowy grass, he took off sprinting. Daisy had thankfully parked her car at the far end of the street. Luigi wheezed with effort as he opened the passenger’s side door and threw himself inside.

“Luigi, oh my God,” Daisy whispered as soon as she saw his face. “Are you- are you _crying?”_

“I’m okay,” Luigi murmured, though to himself or to her, he wasn’t sure.

“What happened?”

“Just drive.”

“Okay.”

They rode back to Daisy’s house in silence, save for the soft hum of Daisy’s car radio. Luigi focused on keeping the warmth in his eyes from overflowing. He’d made a fool of himself enough for one evening. He wiped the tears from his face, and tried hard to focus on anything except for Mario. He eventually resorted to counting mailboxes.

After what seemed like an eternity, Daisy parked into her driveway and shut off the car. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” she asked.

Luigi took in a shaky breath. “He hit me.”

The words came out in a whisper, as if saying them too loudly would somehow make them realer.

“Oh my God…”

“I’ll be fine, I just- I can’t be there right now. Thank you for picking me up. I really owe you.”

“No, it’s fine, Luigi. Seriously. Come on, we’ll go inside, and I’ll grab you some night clothes from my dad’s room.”

Daisy settled Luigi on the couch, examining his face for a moment before retreating upstairs for a change of clothes. They hadn’t ever stayed a night together, so the experience was more surreal than anything. In his moments alone, Luigi allowed himself to cry. But the tears were stale now, and none left him; offering him no catharsis from the bile in his gut.

And so he just sat there, focusing with a terrifying intensity on the sounds he made when he breathed in and out.

“Hey, Luigi,” Daisy said, tossing a pair of small flannels at him. Luigi thanked her. “I have some good news if you want to hear it.”

“Sure,” Luigi said.

“I called up at the bar and hooked us up with an audition this upcoming Saturday. Granted we make it, we’ll have our gig on Sunday.”

Luigi smiled. “You’re the best, Daisy. Thank you.”

“You can impress your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my-,”

“Shut up,” Daisy laughed. “Now get to bed. I have a plane to catch at four AM to meet my father for Christmas, and he’s exhausting enough without being sleep deprived on top of it. Here, I got you a blanket, too.”

She passed him a thick flannel comforter, which he took with a grateful smile.

“Get some sleep, okay Luigi?”

“Okay.”

And with that, Daisy headed back upstairs and back to bed.

A single text lit up Luigi’s phone just as he laid his head down to sleep.

 **Mario, 2:35 AM:** Where are you.

 **Luigi, 2:36 AM:** I’m at Daisy’s.

 **Mario, 2:36 AM:** Thank you. I’m sorry. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight.

 **Luigi, 2:37 AM:** Okay.


	3. Gifted

Gifted

By the time Mario came for Luigi, Daisy had already long-gone. She’d left Luigi a plate of bacon and eggs in the fridge to heat up, and a sloppy, handwritten note. It read:

“IF YOUR BROTHER DOES ANYTHING STUPID, THE KEY TO THE FRONT DOOR IS TAPED UNDER THE FLOWERBOXES BY THE KITCHEN WINDOW. AND KEEP THE PAJAMAS. NOT LIKE MY DAD’S GOING TO BE USING THEM ANY TIME SOON.”

Luigi smiled at her kindness. He truly didn’t know what he had done to deserve her.

Luigi saw the familiar van he shared with Mario as it puttered up the street. A pang of anxiety stabbed into him as soon as he saw Mario’s face behind the wheel. Luigi took in a shaky breath, clenched his teeth, and walked outside.

When he got into the van, the first thing he noticed was Mario. Namely, that Mario looked like absolute _hell_. The man’s hair was disheveled and unwashed, and heavy bags hung under his eyes. He was still dressed in his work clothes.

“Thank you for texting me last night,” Mario said softly, putting the car into gear and pulling back out of the drive.

“Yeah, no problem,” Luigi mumbled back.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Mario said. “But you _gotta_ tell me where you are. I’ve lost so much, Luigi, that if I lost you on top of it, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“Yes, you did.”

Mario sighed. “No, I really didn’t. Come on, bro. Let’s not argue again. It’s Christmas. I’ve got a gift for you when we get home, alright?”

Luigi blinked, “I thought I said not to get me anything for Christmas.”

“You really think I’d let my little bro get nothing for Christmas?”

“I guess not.”

“I know the holidays have been rough,” Mario began slowly, as if inspecting each word before it left his mouth. “It’s our first Christmas without Mom and Dad. That’s stressful, you know? You’ve been working your ass off in school, and I get that it’s been stressful to put work on top of that. You deserve something nice. It’s no grand gesture or anything, but I think you’ll like it.”

There was a long pause before Mario continued.

“I’m sorry for being so hard to get along with lately. I’ve been stressed out, too.”

“I know,” Luigi said. “You shouldn’t have spent your money on me, though. That’s supposed to be for college.”

Mario laughed sadly. “Bro, I don’t think I’m _going_ to college.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s not like I’m giving up completely, okay? It’s just not plausible. Right now, I’m focusing on keeping our heads above the water and getting you out of this place.”

“Mario-,”

“That’s all I’m going to say about it, Luigi. Come on, let’s get inside.”

They pulled into their driveway, and Mario shut off the van.

They had no tree that year, save for a dinky plastic one that sat on one of the end tables. A few haphazard decorations had been thrown about, but mostly the house looked just as empty as ever. Mario sat Luigi down by the coffee table, handing him a small stack of newspaper-wrapped gifts.

“C’mon, bro. Open your gifts,” Mario coaxed.

Luigi carefully tore back to wrapping paper, smiling nervously as he did so. He hated the feeling of being watched while he opened gifts, but Mario seemed excited, and he would never forgive himself if he ruined that.

Luigi finally removed the last of the gift wrap from his first gift.

“Oh my gosh, Mario you didn’t have to-,”

“I bought it yesterday after you went to Daisy’s. I figured if you were planning to pick up guitar again, you might as well have something nice for it. Green’s still your favorite color, right?”

Luigi inspected the guitar strap with gentle care. He felt a smile crawl its way onto his face. “Can I-?”

“Open up your other gifts first, bro,” Mario said.

Luigi grabbed his other things and unwrapped them with just as much care as he’d unwrapped the first. Mario had gotten him new gloves (both for work and casual wear) and a few new shirts. As soon as he had thanked Mario for his last gift, Luigi raced up to his room. He plucked his guitar from the ground and hastily fixed the green strap around the body.

Tossing it around his shoulders, he brought it downstairs.

“How do I look?” Luigi asked, swinging the guitar around to lie against his hip.

“Like a real rocker, bro,” Mario grinned. He gave his brother a solid thumbs-up. “Got a song to play for me yet?”

“N-no. I have an audition with Daisy this weekend but it's nothing special." Luigi laughed awkwardly. He had started writing a few songs with Daisy, but none of them had made it past their drafting stages. Still, he found it in him to play a few chords of one of the old Italian songs he’d learned from his grandfather.

“You sound good, bro!”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I’m proud of you,” Mario laughed. “Hey, you should play something for Toadsworth when he comes over.”

“I don’t think he’d want to listen to that,” Luigi said bashfully, playing with the fabric of his gloves.

“Sure he would! He used to listen to us all the time when we were kids, remember? Now go put something on and help me get started for dinner.”

Luigi complied eagerly, switching into a pair of loose jeans and a sweater.

He hurried down to help Mario fix dinner. When they were kids, Luigi had always helped their mother with dinner while Mario and their father had gone off to cut down trees and hang lights from the rain gutters. So as they worked, Luigi ordered Mario around the kitchen, and his brother did all the stupid menial tasks asked of him as Luigi took on the actual recipe for the meal.

Professor Toadsworth showed up a shy bit after the sun had already dipped below the horizon. He smiled as he walked in, hugging both brothers affectionately. They exchanged all the obligatory ‘Merry Christmas’s and ‘how are you’s and ‘I’m fine’s, before sitting down at the dinner table to eat.

They talked about nonconsequential things, mostly. About college, and about where Luigi was applying to, and about Mario’s plumbing business. Luigi noticed that Mario spoke often about college too, as if he intended to keep his true future plans far under wraps.

Eventually, they moved on to the topic of Peach, Mario’s girlfriend.

“Oh yeah, did I tell you?” Mario asked. “Peach is coming over next weekend from her family in Brooklyn. I’ve been buzzed about it all week. She’s been flourishing in university.”

“I’d expect it,” Toadsworth said. “I’ve never had her as a student myself, but my colleagues have given that girl nothing but stellar reviews.”

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Mario laughed. “Still don’t know how I ended up as the class valedictorian instead of her.”

“Hush, my boy. You were just as stellar a student. I am glad that you’ve found yourself a nice girl, though. You two young ones are good for each other.”

“Hey, thanks,” Mario grinned bashfully. “Also you should know that Luigi got himself tied down, too!”

“T-tied down? I wouldn’t put it like that!” Luigi yelped, biting the inside of his cheek. “We’re just friends.”

“Hey, little bro, don’t sweat it. I’m sure Daisy likes you back.”

“Mario!”

“I should have guessed,” Toadsworth laughed. “That’s the one who always waits for you after my class, no?”

“That’s her,” Luigi sighed.

“They went on a date just a few nights ago. Where did you two go again?”

“We went to a bar,” Luigi said. Upon Mario’s look of incredulity, he quickly added. “L-like, not to drink! There was a musical venue playing, and Daisy really liked the band.”

“Alright, alright,” Mario said. “I’ll believe you.”

“The bartender had a really weird name, though,” Luigi added, choosing his words carefully as to avoid any potential suspicion. “Bowser. Can you believe that?”

Mario drew his brows in. “Bowser? You don’t say.”

“You know him?”

“Oh, I know him alright,” Mario sneered. “Let’s just put it this way: I’m not a fan.”

“Why? What did he do?”

Mario rolled his eyes and stabbed his fork into his plate of food. “He’s a manipulative asshole. Gave me trouble, and gave Peach trouble. Why? Are you worried about something?”

“No, it’s just that, uh,” Luigi trailed off. He needed a lie. The time was less than opportune to tell his brother that he had a crush on the beastlike man. He said the first name that came to his head, and prayed that Mario would jump to conclusions as he tended to do. “You know, Daisy.”

The false realization seemed to hit Mario instantly. “Oh, geez,” Mario sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, bro. Girls always go for the wrong guy.”

“He was quite the ruffian,” Toadsworth agreed. “I confiscated knives and other contraband from the boy every other week. He was the type to carve inappropriate messages and the like into the desktops.”

“You’re better than him anyways. I wouldn’t worry about Daisy,” Mario added.

“I don’t think I’m better than him!” Luigi defended quickly. “I just- you know, I wanted to know-,”

“Bro, don’t worry,” Mario scoffed. “Look, the guy is an absolute nightmare. And this is coming from me, the guy who gets along with just about everyone. Did you see that huge scar across his face? From what I heard, he got it in a gang fight.”

“I don’t think-,”

“Look, Daisy might go for him at first, but I promise, she’s going to come right back around. Girls love a bad boy. I think they like having something to fix up and make pretty. Until they realize they’re dealing with a human being and not a house renovation.”

“I don’t like Daisy!” Luigi snapped. He froze suddenly, and added quieter, “I’m just, you know, I’m worried. Worried for her.”

“You’re a sweet guy, bro,” Mario laughed.

And just like that, the air was easy again. Luigi sighed in relief. He’d dodged that bullet.

Still, there was a deep vat of dread that sat deep within his stomach. Mario and Toadsworth had done nothing but assure Luigi of Bowser’s shortcomings. He had never been the brother to trust his gut. Intuition had rarely been on his side in the past.

But even so, Luigi wanted to take the risk. He wondered if it was only the scars that dragged him to Bowser, or if there was something more beneath that.

Beneath the table, Luigi peeled the hem of his glove back, revealing the most disgusting of his burnt flesh. He had extended his arms in the car crash to shield himself, and so his hands had received the worst of the explosion. He had very little feeling on his palms. They would never properly heal, either.

It was no small feat that they had accomplished the small recovery before him.

Luigi imagined running his numb fingertips along the scar on Bowser’s face. Though smooth skin declined to make a sensation under his fingertips, perhaps he would feel the ridges and bumps of imperfection.

And then, Luigi thought, he might feel whole again.


	4. Deceived

Deceived __

By the time the following weekend had rolled around, Luigi had gotten hardly any sleep between working and practicing. He was starting to form thick callouses on his fingers, and found the first merit of his scars: their numbness.

Work with Mario had been a constant ache in his bones as well. Neither brother had gotten much of a break from the constant flow of customers that had hit them. It had gotten so hectic, that Mario had taken to dropping Luigi off at one client, and then driving to another so that they could divide and conquer.

There was an upside to it, however. He’d be auditioning the next day. He and Daisy had made a proper setlist, and he was feeling good about it.

“It sounds like someone gave an old Italian guy the entirety of Green Days’ discography,” Daisy had commented dryly. It was intended to be an insult, but Luigi had liked that description of it especially.

“Luigi!”

Mario broke Luigi out of his thoughts.

“Who’s my favorite brother?”

“What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you’d be the best little bro on earth and take my clients today?”

Luigi jerked his head to meet Mario’s eyes. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Only for today!” Mario urged.

“You’ve been working me constantly since Christmas!” Luigi snapped. “This was my only day off until school let back in. You’re seriously trying to get me out of it?”

“Luigi, I know it’s hard but-,”

“I have plans today,” Luigi said.

“With?”

“Daisy.”

Mario sighed. “Bro, I know you like her, but-,”

“I don’t like her.”

“Luigi, please. Let me finish,” Mario huffed. After a beat of rest and realizing that Luigi was waiting for his excuse, he continued. “This is really important for me, okay? Like, I’ll do a solid for you in return. All you have to do is one client for me. Please? Peach is coming today, and I really want to spend as much time as possible with her before she heads back off to university.”

“Why did you even schedule a client today, if it was _so_ important?” Luigi groaned.

“Because, bro. I was counting on you to handle it. I trust you, you know.”

Luigi rolled his eyes. Of course Mario hadn’t asked him if he’d had plans that day. Of course he hadn’t cared that maybe for once _Luigi_ wanted to do something fun and stupid.

“Can’t I just call it off?” Luigi asked. “I have stuff to do today. I know you don’t think the things I do outside of school are important but-,”

Mario sighed. “I _do_ think they’re important-,”

“Important enough to interrupt without even warning me?”

“Bro, please,” Mario begged.

“Give me the keys to the van,” Luigi snapped. “I’m getting my overalls and leaving.”

Mario grinned. “Hell yeah, really? You’re the best, bro! Let me give you the address. Man, I owe you one.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Luigi retreated up to his room, changing into his work clothes and stuffing his t-shirt underneath the baggy overalls. He paced around his room for a moment, drafting ideas on how he could possibly get his guitar out of the house without Mario noticing, and ended up tying the rope of his emergency ladder around the instrument’s neck.

Slowly, and with expert care, he eased the instrument down into the snow.

As Luigi walked downstairs, Mario passed him a shoddy brown-bagged lunch. “Thanks again, bro. You’re the best.”

Luigi forced a smile, grabbed the lunch, and left the house. As soon as he got outside, he flattened himself to the wall and rushed around to the side his bedroom overlooked. He grabbed his guitar, sprinted to the van, and threw the instrument into the passenger’s side.

The same bitterness which had haunted him since youth rose in his chest like the steam in a teapot. If he had let it simmer for long enough, he might’ve even screamed to let it out.

Luigi hardly felt guilty as he peeled away from the city and towards Daisy’s house.

Christmas had apparently gone well for her, though she didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Something about her father hardly noticing her in favor for the other, richer patrons at his Christmas charity event. Luigi decided not to persist in his questioning- Daisy had never liked the sorry kind of attention.

“Alright, Luigi. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Luigi pulled his shirt out of his overalls and threw it over his head as Daisy started the POS-mobile up.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Daisy asked, a smirk on her face.

“A little,” Luigi admitted. “How could you tell?”

“Just had a feeling. Also you keep bouncing your leg like an idiot.”

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re going to rock this audition, and _you_ are going to get yourself a man.”

“Daisy!”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Oh relax. I’m joking. Hey, seriously though. When were you going to tell me?”

Luigi felt his gut turn. “Tell you about what?”

“About, you know, liking guys. Not that I’m offended or anything- I get why you might not want to broadcast that kind of personal information.”

Luigi felt his lungs deflate. He anxiously tapped a rhythm out against his knee, and made a meal of swallowing his own spit. “I don’t really know,” Luigi admitted finally. “I guess I’ve always liked them, but as time went on and things got a little more desperate for my romantic life, I kind of started to like anyone who was even a little bit kind to me.”

Daisy bit her lip. She looked a little too intensely at the road, as if even the smallest break in her attention might cause her to lose control of herself.

Luigi winced. He never intended to lead her on- but he never pushed away her affections either. He had been nothing but static and complicit. And he had hurt her with that complacency.

“Daisy?” Luigi said, so softly it hardly overwhelmed the car’s radio. “You know you’re my best friend, right? Behind Mario, you’re the most important person in my life.”

Daisy sniffled. “Yeah, I know. And if that sleaze of a bartender so much as hurts a hair on your amazing Italian head, I’ll make him regret the day he was born.”

“Thank you,” Luigi laughed, his bones somehow feeling less dense.

“Now come on, sap. We’re here.”

They walked into the bar together, two ragtag best friends with nothing between them but an old classical guitar, and a pair of drumsticks.

The bar looked much different during its daytime hours. It seemed to be open specifically to host auditions and serve cheap draft beer by the bottle. Sun streamed through the open windows, shining upon the scuffs in the ground and the cracks in the ceiling.

“You here to auditi-oh. It’s you,” Bowser frowned. “The two underaged kids who asked for Shirley Temples and then proceeded to stare with an uncomfortable intensity at me for the rest of the night.”

Luigi flushed, “I wasn’t- we w-weren’t-,”

“Yeah, alright jackass. Now go up there and play before I kick you two out for loitering.”

Luigi yelped, hurrying up to the stage. He slung his guitar around his shoulders, feeling guilt rise in him as he let it hang under the support of the strap Mario had bought him.

That guilt was pushed down with the sight of Bowser’s expectant eyes. Luigi felt blood rush to his head, but managed to stay collected. Luigi closed his eyes, and let the first chord of his opening song ring out.

They played their set almost flawlessly. Luigi, who wasn’t used to singing in front of others in any circumstance, felt his voice wobble and crack with the nerves of an audience, but he managed to stay mostly on-key to his own delight. Bowser’s gruff scowl had melted into a small grin by the close of the demo show, making Luigi’s heart pound like Daisy’s bass drum in his chest.

Before they had even finished their last riff, Bowser was already copying their names down onto the following night’s list of gigs.

“You guys did good,” Bowser said approvingly. “I’m actually kind of… impressed. I really thought you’d suck a lot more.”

“So we’re in for tomorrow?” Daisy asked.

Bowser grinned. “Yeah- what the hell. You’re in.”

Luigi and Daisy let out a cheer, and they hugged one another tightly in victory. Luigi felt every ounce of blood rushing through his veins with an exhilarated speed.

“Speed up your little celebration party,” Bowser grumbled. “I’m on my lunch in five minutes, and I’m not having that cut because some kids couldn’t figure out how to pack up their set.”

“Of course, we’ll be going-,”

Daisy cut Luigi off quickly, bringing him in for another hug and holding him tightly. She pressed her lips near the shell of his ear. Luigi was about to shove her away when he heard her whisper: _“Now’s your chance.”_

Luigi pulled away from her. Daisy winked. Luigi smiled. He readjusted his instrument behind his back and took in a deep breath before walking up to Bowser.

“Uh, hey!” Luigi said. He felt his hands shake, and subsequently shoved them behind his back to hide them. “I was wondering if after you clocked out… you wanted to get coffee or something? O-on me, of course!”

There was a long silence between them, as Bowser tried to process what Luigi was saying.

“I-I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to force you do anything- I mean you hardly even know me, and-,”

“Sure,” Bowser said simply. “That’s fine.”

Luigi felt as if the corners of his mouth had been tied to helium balloons. He smiled wide and laughed in astonishment. “Yes? You mean it?”

“As long as you’re buying,” Bowser shrugged. “Just hang out there. I’ll clock out.”

Luigi waited until Boswer had gone to cheer. He hugged Daisy with enough force to lift her off the ground.

“Daisy, I could kiss you!”

“Better not, if you want this date to go in your favor,” Daisy laughed back. “I’m going to go and drive up to the clothes store a few blocks away, okay? Text me when you’re done. I’m going to get lost before your boyfriend-to-be comes back out.”

Luigi thanked her profusely before letting her leave. He nervously adjusted his cap on his head as he waited for Bowser, wondering whether he would look handsomer with it on or off. He didn’t have much time to ponder, however, because before he knew it, Bowser had reemerged from the ‘Employees Only’ room.

Bowser had thrown on a more casual pair of clothes, a black shirt and jeans. Luigi thought he looked breathtaking.

“You going to stare at me forever, tall man?” Bowser asked, quirking a brow.

“N-no, sorry!” Luigi yelped. “Let’s go- how does that sound?”

“Good to me.”

They ambled around for a bit before finding a quaint coffee house a block away. Bowser ordered them both drinks, and took a seat by Luigi at the window.

“So where’d you learn to play like that?” Bowser asked, awkwardly trying to spark a conversation.

“My family is Italian,” Luigi said. “My grandfather used to be able to play classic guitar, and he taught me and my older brother most of what we know. I know that it’s different, but-,”

“I like it,” Bowser said, and he seemed honest with his praise.

Luigi blushed. “T-thank you.”

“You’re not seriously going to get flustered over a stupid compliment, are you?”

“Sorry! I just don’t get compliments that often,” Luigi admitted.

“Shame,” Bowser said.

They went on to talk amiably, exchanging numbers and old anecdotes. When Bowser laughed, the eye on the side of his scar closed all the way. Luigi found it charming.

Still, something pressed at the back of Luigi’s mind, refusing to release from his consciousness.

Luigi frowned for a moment. “Bowser, do you know my older brother?” Luigi asked. His voice was soft and timid. He didn’t know whether this was a sore subject or not, but if Bowser’s face was any indicator, it was safe to continue for now.

“Not by looking at your face. What’s his name?”

“Mario.”

Bowser tensed, his jaw stiffening and his brows drawing in. “I’m aware of him,” Bowser said gruffly. “He was a freshman when I was in my senior year. Held this huge yearlong grudge on me because his girlfriend liked me first.”

Luigi bit his lip. “He said some things about you when I mentioned your name…”

Bowser smirked. “You mentioned me?”

“I- It was just, you know, casual banter!”

“Right. Should’ve guessed,” Bowser laughed. An air of amusement was present in his tone. “Either way, I’ll be glad to let you know that a lot of what he told you is probably true. Mario’s always been a bit of an exaggerator, but he’s not a liar.”

“He said you’re a dropout-,”

“Yep. Never finished the second semester.”

“And that you used to take knives to school-,”

“Had a collection before my study hall teacher confiscated them all.”

“And that the scar across your face was from a gang fight.”

Bowser paused at that one. He lifted a large hand up to his jawline and ran his fingers over the gross blemish. He sighed deeply. Luigi anxiously mixed more sugar into his already sweet coffee.

“So that’s the rumor going around?” Bowser asked. He smiled bitterly at the mouth, though he scowled at the eyes. His lip drew up in disgust to reveal a row of crooked teeth. “Why did you want to have coffee with me? Are you just out to fact-check your rumors? Make a fool of my failures? Your brother’s got a big head- he’s not perfect either.”

“Bowser, no, I just-,”

Bowser laughed- it was the kind of laugh that wasn’t out of a good heart, but rather out of the lack of anything else to say. He reached into his pocket and slipped out his wallet, slapping a twenty on the table. “Tell them to keep the change.”

Bowser stood up. He began to walk away. Luigi felt his heart explode.

“Bowser, stop!” Luigi demanded, grabbing Bowser’s hand with his own. The sneer on Bowser’s face was enough to make Luigi shiver in his work boots, but Luigi forced himself to stand straight up and stare into Bowser’s amber eyes.

“Look,” Luigi said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve tried to open up a conversation with your shortcomings. I’m not really good at talking to people, okay? But I like you. I like you a lot. I just- I- I guess I needed to know that I wasn’t getting myself into trouble with you. I’m sorry. I’m too cautious.”

“How do you like me? You don’t know me,” Bowser growled.

“I-I know that we’re not so different,” Luigi stammered. “And I know that I would be able to understand you if you let me, b-because,” Luigi took a deep breath and slammed his eyes shut. His hand fell from Bowser’s wrist, and went to the sleeve of his sweater. Hands trembling, he pulled back the fabric to reveal his arm in all its imperfect ugliness. “I lost two-fifths of my skin in a car accident last year. I know what it’s like for people to have assumptions about me.”

Bowser’s shoulders dropped as he looked upon Luigi’s arm. The ridges between his furrowed brows erased.

“But still-,” Luigi continued, eyes still closed. “-I remember I looked at you for the first time and I thought, _‘wow, there’s a guy who’s imperfect!’_ , and I figured that if I was 60 percent of a man, and you were 40 percent of one, then maybe we’d fit together like perfect compliments.” He opened his eyes, though still averted them to the floor.

“Luigi?”

Luigi looked up. There was a smile on Bowser’s face. Luigi noticed that the left side of his grin sunk lower due to the scar’s interruption. He found the lopsidedness beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Bowser.”

“Don’t be. You’re one hell of a guy.”

Luigi laughed in relief. “Thank you.”

“But I never got into a gang fight or whatever your brother thinks happened. This scar’s the result of nothing more than a broken beer bottle and a shitty father.”

“I’m sorry,” Luigi murmured. He lifted his hand to hold Bowser’s head, but stopped halfway. After a small moment of deliberation, he carefully pulled off his glove. He pressed his fingers to Bowser’s scar, and let damage meet damage.

He had been right. He was able to feel the scar through his numb fingers.

“Listen, Luigi,” Bowser pushed Luigi’s hand away. Luigi felt his chest tighten. “I have to let you know right now- this kind of thing isn’t for me.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t take it personally. I think you’re a nice guy. You’re probably the first person to look at me like I was more than the cut across my face. But your brother despises me, and I’m not setting myself up for that kind of rejection.”

“He’s reasonable, he’ll listen-,”

“No, he won’t,” Bowser huffed. “I’m really in no place to date as it is. After I took custody of my siblings, I’ve been strapped for everything: cash, time, sleep. I wouldn’t have time for you. I wouldn’t be able to give you the life you probably deserve.”

“You don’t have to give me anything.”

Bowser smiled, and it broke Luigi’s heart. “You were wrong, Luigi. You might be 60 percent of a man, but I’m less than 40. My lunch break’s over. I’ll see you tomorrow at your set. 6:30, alright?”

Luigi swallowed hard. “6:30 sounds good.”

By the time Daisy picked him up, Luigi had wiped the last of the tears from his eyes, and the splotchy redness of his skin was starting to fade.

“How’d your date go?” Daisy asked, a grin across her face.

“It went,” Luigi mumbled.

Daisy caught on quickly. She set a hand on Luigi’s shoulder, which he shrugged off. “I’m sorry, Luigi. Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.”

“I’m not really in the mood to talk about it. Thank you, though. For caring.”

“Of course.”

They drove back to Daisy’s house in silence. Luigi closed his eyes and stared out the cold window, watching first the sprawling city as it passed him by, and then the suburbs. They parked in Daisy’s driveway, and she hugged him quickly before he got into his own van and retreated home.

When he walked through the door, Luigi was hit with the warm mixing smells of pasta and perfume.

“Luigi!”

A beautiful girl with long blonde hair rushed up to him, hugging him tightly. She smelled like fresh cut flowers.

“Hi, Peach,” Luigi greeted, smiling awkwardly.

“Bro!” Mario grinned from the kitchen. “Welcome home! How was work?”

Luigi bit his lip and shrugged. “It was okay,” he lied.

The bitterness he had felt towards Mario that morning had all but shaken from him, and now he was left only by the anxiety of his brother realizing that he hadn’t taken the shift at all.

“That’s good,” Mario said. “Hey, I know I was a real ass about it this morning, but I really do appreciate your help, bro. Thank you.”

Luigi felt another stab of guilt in his gut, and this time, the knife twisted.

“Come on, bro. Take a seat. We made pasta tonight.”

 _“I_ made pasta,” Peach rolled her eyes. “You just poured the tomato sauce into a pot and let it sit.”

“Did you throw the noodles at the wall?” Luigi asked with a small grin. Peach had that way of people in which they never felt uncomfortable around her. Luigi appreciated it.

“I did,” Peach laughed. _“Al Dente_ to a tee. You know, my dorm roommates all think I’m crazy when I cook noodles now.”

“You’re an honorary Italian, then,” Mario declared. “As dubbed personally by my brother and I-,”

A ring went off.

“Hold on, that’s my work phone,” Mario frowned.

Peach tilted her head. “Clients call this late?”

“Not usually.”

Mario put the phone up to his ear, and instantly pulled it back an inch at the screaming voice on the other end. Mario stammered his replies, “Sir, I can’t understand-… I’m having dinner with my family, sir… No sir, absolutely not! This was some mistake or-… I’m so sorry, this is my fault. I’ll come tomorrow and have your work done, free of charge… Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Mario winced as the phone clicked off. He took in a deep breath and flashed Luigi a look that could kill. “Luigi, can we have a talk?”

Luigi winced. “O-okay.”

Mario grabbed him by the arm, squeezing so roughly that Luigi had to mute a yelp of pain. He dragged him into the living room and threw him down on the couch. “Bro, what the hell? You told me you would take the client!”

“I didn’t tell you anything. I asked for the van keys,” Luigi snapped back.

“Where the hell were you all day, then?”

“At my audition,” Luigi snapped. “The one that I told you about last week, which you apparently didn’t care about enough to remember.”

“You’re- you’re kidding me, right?”

“No.”

Mario took in a deep breath. “I’m going to say anything, Luigi, because it’ll just piss me off and I’ll lose it and smack you into next year.”

“Are you going to send me to my room?” Luigi sneered.

“No. I don’t care where you go. But I don’t want to see your face for the rest of tonight- do you understand me?”

“Fine.”

And with that, Luigi shoved past Mario and walked out the door. As soon as the slab of wood shut behind him, he let the tears he had been holding back resurface. Frantically, he brought up his phone.

 **Luigi, 8:24 PM:** Daisy? Would you be okay with letting me stay the night again?

 **Daisy, 8:24 PM:** Are you okay?

 **Luigi, 8:25 PM:** I don’t know.

 **Daisy, 8:25 PM:** I’ll be right there.

Luigi rocked on his feet as the cold bit his skin. He had mostly blinked away the tears on his face, save for those that had frozen to his cheeks.

Daisy pulled up in less that five minutes. Luigi winced. She must’ve broken every one of the speed limits _en-route_ to his house by at least twenty miles per hour. Despite, he rushed to the POS-mobile, and hopped into the passenger seat.

“If that asshole hit you…” Daisy pulled back out of the drive and started down the street.

“He didn’t hit me,” Luigi sighed.

“Then why did you call me?”

Luigi played with his gloves. “It was my fault,” he admitted. “I… well, he asked me to work his shift today so that he could see Peach. But I skipped it and went to the audition instead. Now he’s pissed. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”

Daisy stopped the car so hard, Luigi almost cracked his head against the dashboard.

“I’m sorry? _That’s_ what you called me for?”

Luigi bit his lip. “Look, Daisy, I already feel awful-,”

“Because you did something awful!”

“He didn’t even ask me in advance! He just scheduled a shift he knew he wasn’t going to be able to work, because he planned to throw it on me! He didn’t even ask me if I had plans! He doesn’t care that I have a life outside of him! I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”

“News flash: we could’ve auditioned any weekend, idiot!”

“But Bowser-,”

“God, I can’t handle this. I’m dropping you back off.”

“Daisy, please, don’t!” Luigi felt tears sting at his eyes.

“What, are you crying now so that your brother will feel bad and won’t be upset with you anymore?”

“No, I’m-,”

Daisy parked right in his driveway. She kicked the passenger side door open, and unbuckled Luigi’s seatbelt. “Get the _hell_ out of my car,” Daisy snarled.

Luigi stiffened his lip and took in a deep breath before complying, stepping out of the car and into his drive. The POS-mobile backed out of his driveway, and peeled away. Luigi cursed. He fumbled for the phone in his pocket and dialed the first number he could think of.

“Hello?” the voice came after two long rings.

“B-bowser?” Luigi asked, his voice beginning to quiver from the cold.

“Oh, it’s you. What did you need?”

“I know this is sudden, b-but can I s-stay at your house tonight? I kind of… well, I-I’m not staying at mine.”

“You’re joking.”

“I-if you can’t do it, that’s okay-,”

“No, I’m coming. Where are you?”

Luigi relayed his address to Bowser, and then leaned back against the corner of his garage offering him the most shelter from the wind. Bowser showed up roughly a half hour past, in a junky sedan that seemed somehow even crappier than Luigi’s van.

By the time he settled into Bowser’s car, he had gotten so numb to the cold that the warm air burned his exposed skin.

“No winter coat? What’s wrong with you?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Luigi sighed.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s get out of here.”

Bowser lived in a trailer half the size of Luigi’s house. The front lawn looked like a yard sale for toys, with dump trucks and dolls and electric ATV’s strewn everywhere about the snow.

“Quiet when you walk in,” Bowser said. “My brothers and sisters are asleep. You can crash on the couch if you want. I’ll get you a blanket.”

“Thanks,” Luigi said, sighing.

“Don’t mention it. I’m returning you home in the morning, though.”

“That’s okay.”

And with that, they walked inside.

No text came that night from Mario. No wonderings about Luigi’s whereabouts. But Luigi knew his brother wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew Luigi was somewhere safe and warm. Luigi typed a quick message out on his phone before his eyes shut.

 **Luigi, 10:24 PM:** I’m staying at Daisy’s. Good night.

And twenty minutes later, Mario had replied.

 **Mario, 10:42 PM:** Good night.


	5. Rebuilt

**** Rebuilt

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Daisy snapped.

“I know,” Luigi mumbled. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

They stood there for a moment, Daisy still in her pajamas, and Luigi freezing to the bone outside her front door.

“I’m glad you didn’t die of hypothermia. Come inside,” Daisy finally said.

They ate breakfast together, and talked as if nothing had happened. Luigi had never enjoyed confrontation, and Daisy looked far too tired to relive the events of the night prior. Luigi wondered if this was how Mario felt all the time- exhausted and overwhelmed.

Maybe that’s why he was so irrational all the time.

They went down to practice their set, but Luigi’s heart lacked presence. He played sloppily, his fingers missing entire lines of notes. His voice couldn’t settle on the right key. But Daisy was too strung to care much, and so despite not sounding nearly ready by four, she told Luigi to pack up his things, and they left for the city.

When they walked into the bar, it seemed like they’d been caught in some twilight zone between the temperate morning and the heated night. The glowing neon advertisement signs had been turned on, but not enough smoke curled through the air yet for them to bounce their colors.

Luigi took to the stage to do his mic check. Upon seeing Bowser serving drinks at the island, he felt his chest sink and his lungs deflate.

He shook it off, though. He had a venue to perform. He had to be at his best.

“Are you okay?” Daisy asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Luigi responded.

Their gig started promptly. There were four bands that would follow them, so things had to be moved along quickly. Though he felt as if he’d never been less ready in his life, Luigi performed.

They struggled through their first two songs. Daisy and Luigi couldn’t settle on a beat, and Luigi’s fingers played the wrong chords more often than the right ones. Luigi could see Bowser cringing as he played. But the more he tried, the more frantic and sporadic his music sounded.

But then he heard the door open.

As they moved to the final chord of their second song, Luigi saw a familiar man move through the sea of bargoers. The man ordered a water, and sat down in the back of the bar.

Luigi smiled. He turned to Daisy. “He’s here,” Luigi said softly.

“Sorry,” Daisy replied. “But I couldn’t let him miss his brother’s first concert.”

“I could kiss you.”

“Quit saying that,” Daisy said with a laugh. “You’re going to end up making me think that I still have a chance.”

Luigi smiled at her and then took a deep breath before speaking into the microphone.

“So those were the two originals on our set list. And now, for our final song, a cover of Massimo Ranieri’s _Perdere l’Amore.”_

A few heads turned in confusion. From behind him, Daisy drew in her eyebrows in confusion.

“What? This wasn’t on our setlist!” She whisper-yelled.

Luigi turned around, hushing her.

“Play at andante. Slow, without too much flair. Go easy on the tom,” Luigi instructed. “Add fills wherever you see fit.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.”

Though they had never played the song once in their lives, somehow, they were perfectly in time. Luigi’s voice was steady and slow. He hadn’t sung the song in years- not since he and his brother had been asked to perform it at a cousin’s wedding. But it had been a favorite of his grandfather’s, and a favorite of his parent’s.

As he sang, he pictured walking around the house with his mother, cleaning and dusting, with their old junky boom-box blasting Italian hits of the 90’s.

_Comunque ti capisco  
e ammetto che sbagliavo_

Luigi felt his chest quake with effort as he belted, and kept his eyes shut. Daisy kept her fills at all the right time, and the song ended rightfully with a cymbal crash.

When he had finished, they were met with an applause that shook through the entire bar. Bowser followed the patrons in their accolades, and his wide smile was the first thing Luigi saw when he opened his eyes up again.

Luigi huffed as he shouted one last breathless, “Goodnight, everybody!” into the audience.

Luigi whirled back around to grin at Daisy, but she was already lost in her own exhilaration. “We did amazing!” she cheered. _“You_ did amazing!”

“Thank you,” Luigi said airily, still star-struck.

He and Daisy collapsed their set quickly, leaving to let the next band go onstage. As soon as his feet hit the floor of the bar, he took off. He raced to the back of the bar, where his brother sat alone. Mario wiped at his eyes as Luigi approached him.

“Bro, you were fantastic,” Mario said, his voice shaking with pride. “Come here. Bring it in.”

They hugged tightly, and Luigi could feel his brother’s chest shake as he inhaled. Mario had never been the emotional one out of them. To see him undone caught Luigi off-guard.

“Where’s Peach?”

“She’s at home. She thought I should do this on my own, and I have to say- I agree with her.”

“I’m sorry about what I did,” Luigi murmured as he pulled away from the embrace. “I know you care, and I know you have your own life too, and I think I forget that in the heat of the moment sometimes. I’m so sorry-,”

“Hey, bro. Shut up,” Mario smiled.

And Luigi smiled back.

The warmth in Mario’s face suddenly dropped, however. Luigi furrowed his brow before realizing that Mario was looking behind him.

Turning, Luigi came face-to-face with Bowser.  

“Not too shabby, green guy,” Bowser smiled.

Luigi swallowed hard. He wondered what Mario would do in his position. He wondered if Mario would be reckless and take the risk he was weighing. He wondered if Mario would live in the heat of the moment.

He wondered if he would always think in terms of his older brother. He wondered if he would always be Mario’s shadow.

But he looked into Bowser’s warm, accepting eyes, and those worries were dashed. Luigi grinned with resolution. Because though Luigi might always nothing more than the shadow to Mario’s sun- he knew that when the sun grew too hot, people ran to the shadows.

He wrapped his arms around Bowser’s neck, and kissed him.

They pulled away instantly, though Luigi had caught Bowser kissing him back for the fraction of a second they had been together.

Luigi felt some addictive rush in his chest that begged him to kiss the bartender again, but he resisted it. He looked to his older brother with a soft smile on his face.

“I see,” Mario said, his tone unreadable. “So you really don’t like Daisy, huh?”

“Nope,” Luigi said.

“Mario, I can explain,” Bowser said, his voice edging on anxious. “I didn’t make any advances-,”

“No need to explain, Bowser,” Mario said calmly. He looked the man up and down, and though Mario was both younger and smaller in stature, he still somehow managed to tower over the other man. “Just don’t hurt him. Because I _will_ come for your neck.”

Bowser nodded, breaking out into the ghost of a smile. “Understood, Mario.”

And in spite of the week that had led up to this point- in spite of the hellish stress and painful stings, Luigi smiled, too.

And all was well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> My tumblr is @Predominantly_Normal if you want to send me a kind word (or a bad one).


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